


Ceaseless Changes

by Marshmiillow



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 2000 words of whatever i want, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Background Relationships, Blood, Body Horror, Eye Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, No beta we kayak like Tim, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), The Watcher's Crown (The Magnus Archives), Wingfic, martin is a little bit scared of jon, mostly hurt not much comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25268743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marshmiillow/pseuds/Marshmiillow
Summary: What if The Watcher's Crown went a little bit differently? What if Jon changed as much as the world did? What if I just really want to torture Jon and make him hurt a lot?In which when Jon reads 160's statement, he becomes even less human than he was before.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Martin Blackwood
Comments: 18
Kudos: 156





	Ceaseless Changes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KazzleDazzle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazzleDazzle/gifts).



> No beta, this was written on a whim because I wanted to write about Jon getting hurt. Pls comment and leave kudos if u enjoy i require validation

Jon smiled softly as he waved Martin out of the door, wishing him a nice walk. When Martin was starting down the path away from the cottage, he closed the door and quietly turned back to the living room. The familiar hunger settled in his mind, and he grimaced slightly; he hated feeding the thing, loathed the reminder of his less-than-human nature. 

Sighing, he knelt down and rummaged through his satchel for the folder of statements Basira had sent, flicking through a few before finding one that called to him. He should probably have learnt not to follow what the Eye wanted him to read, but he was tired, and right now he just wanted to satisfy it so that Martin could come back. It worried him, to leave Martin out on his own, especially in an area so remote. Jon perched in the arm chair and didn’t look over as the tape recorder appeared on the coffee table and clicked on as he began to read. 

“Statement of Hazel Rutter, regarding a fire in her childhood home. Original statement given August 9th, 1992. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, The Archivist. Statement begins.”

He begins to read, feeling the world fade away as he becomes consumed in the statement, settling into the familiar sensations of the words and fear flowing through him, the static that hangs in the air around him. He’s still not quite used to the feeling of the eye on his forehead, but it isn’t startling to be aware of its presence. 

He tenses as he continues to read, the realisation of the trick stabbing into his chest like a cold knife. Desperate and panicking, he tries to fight it. He tries to force his eyes closed, but the third eye remains wide and open, and it would seem he is still perfectly able to see using it. He tries to hold his jaw shut, but pain quickly builds in his chest like he was holding his breath, burning and pressing against his lips until he has to continue. He tries to let go of the page, put it down, anything!

But he stays firmly seated, and he continues to read. 

_Now, repeat after me._

The pages float away from his hands as he begins to chant, tears streaming down his cheeks as he is imprisoned within his own body. They circle him, all 14 pages that had been in the document, each lighting with a symbol as the chant continues. Jon tries to scream with pain as more and more eyes force their way out through his skin, his blood covering him and pooling beneath him as some other force lifts him from the chair. 

—

Meanwhile, Martin frowned up as clouds rolled over the sun. The weather forecast had said it was going to be sunny all day, but it was October, and it wasn’t unusual for the weatherman to be wrong. He thought nothing of it and continued his walk through the village. 

When the ground began to shake, and the clouds thickened and turned a radioactive green, he froze. Panic swept over him and he dropped the bag of shopping he’d been carrying and began to sprint back to the cabin. Something was wrong, something was very, very wrong and he just knew that whatever it was, he needed to get to Jon. 

He was half way up the trail when a great burst of force knocked him off of his feet. Head hitting the floor, he was unconscious for a few moments, and when he opened his eyes he was suddenly aware of screaming, and crying, and the feeling of being watched. Martin made a point not to look at anything other than the cabin. Nothing in the world would make him want to know what was happening to the people in the village. 

The cabin’s windows were all completely shattered. Tiny shards of glass glittered in the sickly green pallor of the sky’s light, their pattern telling the story of some huge burst of energy having shattered them from inside. 

_Jon._

—

Once the chant was done, Jon screamed with the pain of 7 billion tortured existences, his mind and body flooded with suffering. Unable to move, he was suspended in mid air, paralysed as his entire body was mutilated with eyes, taking the form that haunted the nightmares of his victims. Near every part of him was covered with eyes, and those that weren’t were drenched with the blood from them tearing through his skin. He could see everything. 

But of course, the horrifying transformation was not yet over. He screamed and screamed as the glyphs on the pages seemed to swirl around his head, forming a horrific halo and taking the shape of a crown, embedded with eyes. It solidified into existence, sleek green metal and glowing green irises; the horrific construct floated slightly above his head, gently turning. The Watcher’s Crown. 

Still, it would not cease. Jon was forced to continue becoming less and less human. He wondered if the entities were enjoying watching him suffer like this. His shoulders began to burn, and ache, and creak, and as he tried to scream he realised his throat was too hoarse; the only sounds he could make were sobs, silently pleading for it to end as he felt his back get torn open by a pair of large, metallic black feathered wings.

Blood splattered the walls. A boom of energy like a shock wave from a bomb reverberated through the cabin, completely shattering all the windows, breaking several doors, upturning furniture and throwing Jon against the wall, knocking him out. 

—

Martin scrambled to his feet and ran the rest of the short distance up to the cabin, careful to avoid the glass. Breath got stuck in his throat as he gently pushed the remains of the front door out of the way, freezing at the sight of the interior. All of their furniture was broken or upturned, every loose object smashed against the walls… at first, he refused to believe the thing lying slumped against the opposite wall was really Jon, but with the salt and pepper hair half pulled back, the scarred dark skin, and the fact it- he was still wearing Jon’s shirt, it was undeniable. Laid in a huge puddle of dark blood, with eyes over almost every part of his body, a metallic crown hovering over his head and black, feathered wings equally covered in eyes, was Jon. 

“ _What the fuck,_ ” He muttered to himself, unable to help staring wide-eyed for a while before he managed to regain his thoughts’ coherence.   
“Jon!” He shouted, running over and ignoring the wetness seeping into his clothes as he knelt in the puddle to be next to him. All the eyes were open, and staring at him. “Jon?” He asked, hovering a hand over his shoulder, not sure where to put it. He got no response except more staring.   
“C’mon, Jon, _please._ Jon!” He begged, moving his hands to hover over his face. _Oh thank god,_ Martin thought as he looked at him, _he still has a vaguely human face._  
Martin was running out of ideas as to what to do. No amount of shouting his name seemed to get any response from him. Shaking, he lifted his hand, closed his eyes, muttered an apology, and firmly slapped him; he tried to ignore the fact he couldn’t avoid slapping the eye on his cheek. 

Finally, something happened. All at once, the glowing green eyes covering Jon’s body closed and receded back into his skin, sealing over with no indication they’d ever been there. The wings and crown, each still studded with the same eyes, remained though. 

Jon’s eyes focused, and he blinked a few times. What happened? His head _hurt,_ it was so full of pain… His face hurt, but in an entirely different way. He looked up and saw Martin knelt over him, crying. 

He tried to speak, but nothing came out except a pained wheeze. 

“Jon?” Martin asked softly, shaking and crying. He nodded. “Can you speak?” He asked softly, and Jon shook his head a little in response. Martin paused to think, but it was hard when he could still hear the distant screams of people outside. Jon slowly tried to sit up, and he immediately rushed forward to help him. 

It was about this time Jon noticed the weight on his back, and the very large black wings laid across him and the floor. He stared at them. They stared back. 

“Are you ok? Well, I mean, obviously not, you have a weird eye crown and eye wings. A-and just a second ago you were completely covered in eyes!” He rambled, hollowly laughing at the end. Jon weakly reached out and set his hand on Martins. “I… why can’t you speak? I mean, I know you can’t answer that- hang on, I’ll get you some paper and a pen.” 

Martin stood up, grimacing at the blood dripping off his trousers, and started to rummage around. It was easy enough to find some paper, even if that was the back of a statement, but it took him a few moments longer to find where the contents of the drawer from the sideboard had gone. Eventually he found a biro, and gently held them out to Jon, who took them in unsteady hands. 

_I lost my voice._ He wrote simply. 

“I gathered that much. How- wait. Uh, hang on, let’s- you should- I’ll put the sofa right,” He stuttered, lifting the sofa back to an upright position and gently pushing the cushions back onto it. “Um, can you… stand?” Martin asked softly, offering his hands. Jon handed him the paper and pen for him to set aside before carefully taking his boyfriend’s hands, and letting Martin pull him up onto unsteady legs. Martin chewed his bottom lip and settled on just picking Jon up as best he could, avoiding touching the wings or the flayed skin on his back where they had burst through. He put Jon on the sofa and went to get the pen and paper again. 

Jon slowly folded the wings up, and tucked them against his sides. When he was handed the pen and paper back, he carefully wrote; _Are you scared of me?_

Martin hesitated to answer. It seemed compulsion either couldn’t work in writing, or Jon was making a point not to use it. “....Yes. A little bit. But that’s because I’m just… not used to this. I mean… you… you have wings, now. Wings that have eyes on them…” Martin tried to explain. Jon nodded slowly. Before Jon even had a chance to write it, Martin answered. “But I’m not going to leave you. You’re still… you. I hope?” 

Jon nodded. “Yeah. You’re still you, just… a little more spooky. And I can handle a little more spooky.” Martin said, sitting next to him on the sofa. Jon moved his wing to be stretched out behind him, inviting him to be closer. Martin smiled sadly and shuffled closer, pressing himself against Jon’s side and putting his hand on his thigh. 

“We… we’ll figure this out, okay?” He said, but frowned when Jon didn’t respond. His eyes had glossed over, and begun to gently glow… “Jon? Jon, I’m scared. What’s happening?” 

When Jon’s voice escaped his lips, it sounded like a recording of it. Like it was being played back, on a tape recorder… “ _The whole world is Afraid, Martin…. because of me._ ” He pauses, and giggles in a way that makes him sound unhinged.  
“ _And The Watcher drinks it all in…._ ” When he spoke, it was almost with reverence.   
“ _Look! Look at the sky, Martin!_ ” He cries, tears pooling in his eyes and a look of pure adoration and love on his face.

“ _It’s looking back._ ” 

He devolves then into maddening laughter, the eyes across his body beginning to open. Martin can’t help but wince as he slaps him again.   
“Jon!” 

The change doesn’t stop.


End file.
